


Reaper's Discretion

by Therapeutic_Steter



Series: (Don't Fear) the Reaper [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, M/M, Reaper Stiles Stilinski, season 1 rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 17:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13345797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: Fate may have plans, but sometimes the Reaper's discretion is advised.





	Reaper's Discretion

Stiles hummed to himself, watching the officers mill about the most recent murder scene within the small Beacon Hills. He’d reaped the souls of the tainted arsonists hours ago and was now just hanging around, silently judging the humans and their bad decisions.

He’d been working Beacon Hills for a few weeks now, what with the recent string of murders. The alpha werewolf involved was an interesting fellow which Stiles was secretly rooting for, although he really didn’t understand why no one had caught on to who it was yet. Not even the man’s nephew had put two and two together. He shrugged to himself, turning from the officers and stepping forward through space until he was at the hospital.

Peter Hale’s room was a sad place and Stiles wondered why it’d taken as long as it had for the man to go crazy.

“Good Morning, Mr. Hale,” Stiles greeted, even though no one could hear him. Stiles walked a different plane than the living, something beyond that only reapers, escorts, and souls could exist within. He could walk with the living if he wished, but Stiles had found it much more interesting to obverse than to directly influence things. Humans as a general rule were predictable, but occasionally people like Peter Hale popped up and Stiles was fascinated.

“The police found your presents,” Stiles informed him, taking a seat in the chair at Peter’s bedside that was never used. “So nice of you, serving poetic justice like that.”

Stiles could feel the anger and hurt that the werewolf emanated. He could also see the timer above him, knew that wolf’s time was short. Just a couple more weeks now. He hoped the wolf could manage to complete his revenge before his time came. Stiles didn’t like interfering with Fate’s decree, but he was known to use his own discretion at times.

“A little birdy told me a certain silverheart was on her way,” Stiles drawled, eyes flicking up as the nurse came in and opened the window in Peter’s room. Her timer was just a few hours shorter than Peter’s. Stiles wondered if Peter would cause her death. Maybe he’d even kill her himself. From what Stiles could read on the woman’s soul, she would deserve it.

“I’ll see you later, Wolf,” Stiles said, standing and stretching. “Souls to reap and all that.” He patted Peter’s scarred hand, smirking at the goosebumps that rose over the man’s skin before Stiles blinked and he was outside.

Back to work.

…..

Stiles looked at Kate Argent and sighed.

“It really pisses me off that your timer isn't shorter than Peter’s,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “Fate isn't usually that much of a bitch. Normally Karma’s got that covered and you have the worst Karma of anyone.” He pouted, crossing his arms and looking around the Argent house, ignoring Kate's conversation with her niece for now. “Fuck this shit,” he added, before stepping through space over to where Peter was climbing back into the window of his hospital room.

“Messy, messy,” Stiles said. “Too emotional. I don't blame you, but you've got to keep a clear head if you want this revenge to succeed. Which I now know it doesn't.” Stiles watched Peter clean up quickly before settling into the bed. He really did look exhausted. “Your life sucks, dude,” Stiles said, sitting beside him. “I might need to have a talk with Fate because this seems pretty unnecessary.” Stiles wondered what would happen if he revealed himself, stepping into the living plane, but he shook his head. He didn't really want to deal with the paperwork his direct involvement would cause.

“Least your nephew’s timer wasn't near its end, so that bullet won't kill him,” Stiles mused. “Maybe that beta of yours will get his act together and help. Or maybe the Argents will kill him too and Derek will get lucky and find a bullet. Or maybe that secretive druid will let everyone know he's got that stash of wolfsbane at his office. They're all peripheral; I don't care what they do. It's you that's interesting. You've fought for so long by yourself, have been beaten down by others just about all your life—first your father, then sister, then the Argents--and yet you always persevere.” Stiles hummed, brushing his fingers across Peter's arm and watching as Peter shivered, senses warning of the danger even if he couldn't see it. “Fascinating,” Stiles breathed, staring at the burnt edges of his soul. Stiles reached out, soothing his soul with his cool touch. Peter visibly slumped as the pain eased, sleep coming quickly now. “You would've been perfect for Rome,” Stiles thought aloud, softly running his fingers through Peter's disheveled hair. “An old soul born too late.”

Stiles stood, looking out at the moon. “You should take better care of your pups,” Stiles accused her. He gave Peter one last pat on the hand before stepping back over to the Argents to observe their plan.

…..

“Scott,” Derek growled into the phone, “what part of I'm dying do you not understand.”

“I'm trying, dude, but you've got to quit calling me.” Then he hung up.

Stiles frowned. “Well your timer says he'll pull through,” he said aloud. Derek let out a pained whine from his spot crumpled on the floor of the vet office. The black lines of wolfsbane were stark against his pale feverish skin. Stiles sighed. “I'll go see what the holdup is,” he said, wondering when he'd gotten so invested in these idiots.

Stepping into the Argents’ house, Stiles couldn't believe what he saw.

“The man is dying and you're having _dinner?_ ” Stiles asked incredulously, momentarily offended for the wolf he had no connection with. Stiles shook his head. “You are a horrible packmate,” he growled, watching Scott give puppy eyes to Allison.

Returning to Derek, Stiles nearly threw up his hands in defeat. “And now you've passed out. Wonderful.” He crouched down beside Derek, watching his pained breaths. “Dude, I know your timer says otherwise, but I honestly think you might be about to die.”

Stiles could only watch Derek's labored breathing and listen to his pained whines for so long.

“Goddammit,” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes as he easily slipped through the veil into the plane of the living, broke into the vet’s secret stash of magic items, and grabbed the dried wolfsbane. “I hate you all,” he added, glaring down at Derek as he willed the wolfsbane to burn. Fire was one with his will so it was easy to burn it to ash before shoving it into the wound in Derek's flesh. Derek howled, eyes bright blue as he arched his back in pain. Stiles had slipped back behind the veil before he was fully conscious, panting with exertion as he stared up at the ceiling on confusion.

“Fate knew I'd get involved,” Stiles growled, annoyed. “Arrogant Know-It-All.”

…..

“Your plan leaves a lot to be desired,” Stiles informed Peter, staring down at the unconscious redhead. Stiles could feel the touch of death on her, but not because she was dying. Her timer had years left, but Stiles could sense some sort of connection to her. He would have to follow up on his curiosity later; there were a few prospective creatures that could mean she was.

Peter stalked across the field, taking the keys off the girl’s frantic boyfriend before driving off in his Porsche.

“No high schooler should have a Porsche,” Stiles said, sitting in the passenger seat. “Even I know that.”

Peter's eyes glowed angrily as he raced down the streets.

“Do you even know where you're going?” Stiles asked aloud, curious.

Peter pulled over in a parking garage, getting out and opening the truck.

“Oh, there's where your nurse went,” Stiles said easily waving away her soul, severing her tie to her body. Her soul shrieked and hissed angrily as an escort—which looked more like a wisp—came to ferry her to hell. “Too much death around here, I can't keep up.” Stiles chuckled to himself as Peter pulled a laptop from the trunk and started typing.

“You don't know what you're doing, do you?” Stiles asked as Peter tried a few different username and password combinations. “Come on, Scott is a teenager with his first girlfriend. You know what it is.”

Peter growled, slamming his clawed hand against the side of the trunk angrily.

“I have to do everything around here,” Stiles grumbled, typing in ‘Allison’ for the username before also typing ‘Allison’ for the password. Peter blinked in surprise as the computer typed for itself, but quickly shook it off as he logged on and got the coordinates for Scott's phone, showing him where Derek was.

Peter howled into the night and Stiles shivered at the sound, grinning. His wolf was all predator now; he was on the hunt.

“You better kill her,” Stiles glared, even though Kate’s timer had told him differently. He wondered just what would happen that she'd get away from this beast that stood before him.

Stiles stepped over to see where Scott was, not at all surprised to see him with Allison.

“I swear, boy, your pack is being hunted and this is what you're concerned with,” Stiles said. He left then, exasperated, and stepped to the girl with the touch of death, finding her in the hospital. “You will want to sleep through tonight, I think,” he said, easing calmness and serenity into her soul. “Any child of death will be making quite a ruckus tonight and it would probably be too much for one whose powers just awakened.”

Stiles returned to the burnt Hale house as Peter roared his challenge and fury. It seemed Scott had finally arrived, he and Derek trying to fight Peter as Peter fought to get to Kate. Allison stood to the side, bow drawn but face pale with fear, and Stiles could sense another Argent approaching.

“Lovely,” Stiles grumbled, watching the fight for a moment.

Stiles sighed, seeing Peter's timer count down the minutes. He felt the shift as his clothing morphed to his black robe of shadows and Stiles reached into the final plane, where only reapers touched, and slowly pulled out his scythe.

“At least you kept things interesting for a while,” Stiles said, watching the mortals scuffle. His hood shrouded his face but he could see through it perfectly.

“Apologize,” Peter demanded, claws to Kate's throat.

“I'm sorry,” Kate gasped.

“Lies,” Stiles accused as Peter tore her throat out. Stiles frowned when her timer still did not end, peering into her soul-line and groaning. “Seriously? She’s going to become a shifter? No one even uses that method anymore! Fuck this,” He growled, swinging his scythe and severing her soul from her body. Kate’s soul screeched with the pain of her sins.

“Reaper discretion,” Stiles said, eyes blazing with fire. “If my wolf dies tonight, he's taking this bitch with him.” He felt the grumble of Fate but an escort came just the same, dragging Kate's soul to hell.

Stiles turned to Peter, frowning as a thrown bottle caught his attention. “What…” Stiles started, eyes widening as the bottle burst against Peter's skin and flames engulfed him.

Stiles felt the flames against his own skin as Peter howled. “I'm sorry, my wolf,” he murmured as the flames of death licked at Peter's soul. “Soon, the pain will leave.”

Stiles watched as Derek stood above his uncle, burned twice now. Stiles’ hand clenched around his scythe, knuckles white, as Derek slashed across his uncle's throat, ignoring the cries of the beta who never knew what it meant to be pack.

“My wolf,” Stiles said, reaching out and gently soothing Peter’s pained soul. Stiles eased his suffering, maneuvering his scythe to severe his connection so he could be escorted on. Stiles paused though when the soul’s tie to this world remained attached, stretching like gum around his scythe but not severing.

“Oh?” Stiles said curiously, small smile creeping onto his face. “What have you done now, Wolf?”

Stiles let his scythe fade back into the final realm, curling his exhausted wolf’s soul close to his chest. “Perhaps I'll be lingering in Beacon Hills yet,” Stiles mused quietly, smirking as a new count down—this one a timer to new life—appeared over his wolf's soul. Stiles quickly worked out when the timer would end, laughing at Peter’s brilliance.

“Until the Worm Moon, my wolf.”

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this idea from my mind; I just love Reaper!Stiles. I have tentative plans to do a Season 2 rewrite in this AU 'verse too. ;)


End file.
